Little Fire
by IslaTheAwkwardChild
Summary: What if Buliwfy had a daughter? It takes place many years after his death, with Ahamed raising her. Please give me feed back, I am not good at writing Q-Q
1. Chapter 1

_This takes place about seven years after his death. Hope you like it. Side note: Aithne is a Celtic name that I have always adored and it means 'little fire.'_

Little Fire

"Arab!" A familiar voice called out. Ahmed whirled around, to be greeted by a beaming little girl. She held her arms out in welcome.

"Aithne!" He closed his arms around her in a warm hug. His black folds of fabric fluttered over them in the freezing air. He pulled back and studied her.

"You have grown!" His Norse had a thick middle-eastern accent. Aithne rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

"You have only been gone since the last full moon." Her long lashes made shadows on her pale cheeks. Her extremely light blonde hair was pulled back in a long braid.

"It has been too long, nonetheless." He laughed as his crow's feet gathered in the dark skin around his eyes. Her brows furrowed as she smiled. Ahmed could not help, but to notice how much she reminded him of her father.

"You have your father's eyes." The Arab said softly. He can see her father now, in his mind, the large figure of a heroic king sitting on his impromptu final throne, soaked, pale, and cold. Dead.

"You tell me this often, Arab." The small child's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He blinked at how she squinted her eyes and grinned with mischievous intent.

"What are you thinking, little one?" Ahmed asked as he arched a brow. She pulled away and studied him with her piercing blue eyes, just as her father had.

The memory of that day that he had learned of her reeled in his head. Herger had paced his horse next to Ahmed's stallion, or "dog" as they had put it. The north man on the enormous steed had rambled about his family and the others' families, too. Ahmed had finally managed to ask about the leader, Buliwfy. Herger's only reply was that the king had one daughter of three winters and nothing more.

"I want you to teach me how to use a sword." The bluntness of the child's words yet again pulled him out of his thoughts. He stared at her, puzzled for a moment.

"But you are young, child. A girl, as well, and that is the least of my worries. Little girls should not learn how to use such things." He uttered in a strange mixture of confusion and shock with a hint of fatherly pride.

Aithne's jaw jutted out in the signature sign of persistence that she and her father shared. Ahmed had seen Buliwfy do that many times in their short friendship. Her icy eyes flashed defiance as she squared up with him in the way a warrior of her people would. She clamped her tiny fists on her hips and glared at him.

"Just because I am a girl? You know that I can handle it. You have seen how I can beat other boys of the village in matches, Ahmed." Her tone was stubborn and Ahmed knew that as she had actually called him by his name, she was serious. He hid a smile. The thought of her being full-grown and still picking fights with the men of this area made him snicker. It won't be long till she would outgrow him. He tilted his head and tried his best imposing fatherly stance at her, but it didn't phase her one bit.

The image of Buliwfy crept into his mind. The warrior was ashen and death was coming over him fast. He had leaned against him and asked the smaller man to take care of his little girl, the fire that kept him going.

The Arab shook his head to stop the scene in his brain. He shrugged with a defeated sigh.

"Fine, but first your reading and writing lesson." He motioned to the mud at their feet. She nodded in understanding. Her blonde braid bounced around and she smiled in triumph in the exact manner that Buliwfy would have. She moved to her left and knelt. Her tiny finger dug shallowly in the muck and began to gracefully trace lines.

"There is only one God, and Mohammad is his…" She spoke, but faltered at the end. Uncertainty was clearly on her mind. The short man squatted next to her with a crooked grin. The girl of ten winters narrowed her eyes on his fingers as he corrected the symbol in the wet dirt.

"Prophet." He stared down into her intelligent eyes when she nodded. "Now let us begin!" He stood up and reached for the hilt of his sword. In one motion he pulled it out and slowly tossed it to the child. She caught it awkwardly as she stood up.

Aithne crinkled up her nose in distaste. "I cannot lift this." She complained. Her knees buckled to help her balance as she heaved the heavy weapon onto her shoulder. She fumbled a little with the blade. In the back of Ahmed's mind he could see his old friend with a great smile of pride of his daughter on his face, a smile for his little fire. Ahmed spoke once more.

"Grow stronger."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2: Not so little._

The clash of swords rang throughout the frozen forest. The icy wind stirred the bristles of the swaying trees.

"Good! Now don't forget your stance!" Ahamed instructed. He swung to his opponent's torso, but only to have weapon to glance off another.

"I have never forgotten!" The blonde laughed as she spun against to his direction. Ahamed froze at the sensation of cold metal against the back of his neck. He dropped his blade with a grin. His long gray shirt was pressed onto by his leather practice armor aw were his forest green plants. His thick fur lined brown coat served him well with the freezing gusts of wind. He smiled as saw how similar she fought like her father, but the monks from the east have taught her the art of their strange fighting.

"Good. Good. You are now beating this old man." He looked over his shoulder to see a sword resting on his skin from an extended arm in the style of how he was once taught from his master in his homeland. The arm bound in fabric and leather was attached to a tall girl with a triumphant smirk. Amused. he wrinkled up his red nose at he sight.

"I have had a great teacher… and father." Aithne removed her weapon from her master and twirled it into its sheath. The Arab tilted his head with a sigh. He faced her and cupped the pale face.

"My, you have grown. You make this man feel old." He studied the crisp blue eyes with fond memories.

"Are you sure that is me that makes you feel old or is it your aching joints?" She raised her brow with a mischievous grin. He chuckled and pulled his adopted daughter into his embrace.

"That too." He pulled back and patted her shoulder that was protected with rough leather and pelts. The older man reached down and picked up his light sword and covered it.

"Come. Your mother will be worried sick if we are late yet again." He tugged on a flowing stand of her hair just as he did when she was a child. She gave an annoyed huff and batted away his hand.

"Very well, but she won't be happy about you still training me."

"When has that stopped us?" The Arab looked up at the slightly taller girl with a mischievous grin. Aithne let out a hearty laugh. Her light armor was strapped over her navy blue long sleeved tunic. Her leg guards were placed over her earthy toned pants and knee high boots. Gray fur was draped over her shoulders for warmth.

"Let us hurry. Mother has made an effort to make your peculiar favorite food." Aithne sniffed the air. "She has forgotten the garlic again."

"You will tell her that! Not I!" Ahamed snickered with gusto.

"Do you wish for me to die?" The young woman waved her gloved hands in the air dramatically. The pair laughed and continued to follow the scent.

"Where have you been?" A fire haired woman bellowed as the entered the large hall. The air was heavy with the scent of poorly cooked shawarma.

"Uh… we went for a walk." Ahamed shrugged. Aithne flashed him a thin smile that her father has shown him once.

"Do not lie to me Arab!" She waved her fingers at him in warning. He red loose curls bounced.

"We were training." The young girl said plainly. The dark man stole a terrified glance at her. The mother's face nearly matched her hair.

"You are a woman! Not some sort of warrior!" The angered woman stood on her toes to match her daughter's eyes, but to no avail. She is exactly the height of the Arab, but her skin is nearly completely blanched color except for her freckles. Her mint green dress swished around her ankles.

"Alfdis…" The dark man warned. He knew that Aithne's personality and her mother's, Alfdis clashed often. The blonde woman's face became serious and angry.

"Single minded as always." Aithne glared.

"What did you say?" Alfdis dared. Aithne's face instantly turned into a coy one.

"You have forgotten the garlic." At her daughter's words Alfdis laughed.

"I can not change your mind." The mother patted her only child's face.

"Or un-burn food." The blonde nodded to the crackling slices of spicy chicken. The red head gasped and moved the food onto a plate.

"Oh my Odin! That was close. Ahamed, I fear that I will never be able to cook your people's food." She motioned for the other maidens to help wrap the cooked meat into the flat breads. The women rushed and did their work.

"Now go to your quarters. I will not have you dining with you two clad in sparring gear." The busy mother waved them off. The pair laughed, but Ahamed noticed once again how much Aithne was similar to her father. Her hair color is the same, as well as her mannerisms. How she smiles, laughs, and fights.

"Hurry. We do not want to feast on cold shawarma." The Arab ushered her to her door. She opened her door and glanced at him.

"I know what you are thinking old man." She gave a sad smile. "Best not to dwell on old memories." She disappeared behind the wood planks of the door. The older man sighed.

"It is easier said than done."


End file.
